


Before I Go

by Languid_Victorian_Poetess



Series: Across the Universe [1]
Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game), Original Work
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Angst, Dungeons & Dragons Campaign, F/M, Sex, Smut, Stalking, Supernatural Elements, Vampire Turning, Vampires, like an unreasonable amount of build up, lots of build up to sex, there's a lot of bad tags but it's not about the main ship i swear
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-07
Updated: 2020-10-17
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:41:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26883052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Languid_Victorian_Poetess/pseuds/Languid_Victorian_Poetess
Summary: Jezabel Blackwood has a choice: give herself over to the enemy or let her friends die. Leo knows her a little too well and shows up at her house to check on her. Jez decides not to spend her last night on Earth alone and lets everything spiral out of control. After everything, will she be able to make the same choice?
Relationships: Original Female Character/Original Male Character
Series: Across the Universe [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1984171
Kudos: 2





	1. A Choice

**Author's Note:**

> Some quick background: Jezabel is a vampire hunter and was originally taken captive and abused as a child by some vampires. This led to the death of her younger sister, though Jez was rescued by a band of vampire hunters. They trained her and, eventually, Jez went out to take her revenge. However, one of her captors had a son, Eric, who possesses a growing obsession for Jez. They've played cat and mouse for years.
> 
> Sebastian is dying and the only solution is immortality, the easiest way being to turn him into a vampire. Eric sends Jez a choice: save Sebastian's life and give herself over, or watch him die.
> 
> Okay, I think that's everything! This is actually my first time writing smut, you can probably tell. I'm so sorry that the lead up is years long. We don't have to discuss it. Anyway, please enjoy!

Her hand hurt, though Jezabel had no memory of punching the mirror. Slivers of glass glared up at her from beneath the light and she stared at her hand dully. Flecks crashed among the others and crunched beneath her boots. Her splintered reflection snarled back at her, lips drawn back in a hateful sneer, long black hair loose over her shoulders, dark brown eyes burning with molten fire in their depths. Bags hung dark below her eyes and sharp lines creased her forehead and around her mouth. The sneer faded when a drop of blood distorted her image and for a moment, fear haunted her expression. Jezabel turned away from the broken fragments of her appearance.

Across the room, her fine French doors rattled under the wind. Her heart thundered in her chest, too loud and too fast, a brewing storm. It was too soon, wasn’t it? Instinct had her revolver in her hand, hammer cocked back, aimed at the balcony doors that remained firmly shut, all in the space of a single breath. The shadows danced and again the wind howled, shaking the doors with vigor. Her hand trembled in time and she lowered the weapon slowly. Every nerve in her body felt alight, burning with anticipation for the morning and all of her choices to catch up with her. Blood rolled down her hand like tears and she heard the soft  _ plop  _ as it was caught by the red rug below.

The air behind her shifted and a wisp of hair fluttered into her eyes. Gun still clenched tight, she spun around, levelling the weapon at what she assumed would be an empty space. What she didn’t expect was there to be someone in the room with her. A growl left her throat and the figure’s image tilted as she shifted her finger to the trigger. “Jez!” The voice cried and she knew who it was before he looked up and met her eyes.

“Leo? What the fuck!” The expletive exploded from her mouth. The gun was still tight in her hand. He took a step forward and eased it from her knuckle-white grip, releasing the hammer, and set it aside. “You couldn’t use the goddamn door like a normal person?” Her hand shook when her voice didn’t and her eyes followed the gun’s path.

“Ya told everyone downstairs not to let anybody in, Jez,” he said gently, as though he was trying to soothe a spirited horse. It only made her anger burn brighter. “Ya specifically told ‘em not to let me in.” The depths of his hurt landed like a blow, all too evident in his lopsided smile that didn’t reach his eyes. His creased brow and hard lines around his mouth looked like permanent editions to his features. She wondered dimly if they’d been carved in the days of silence between them, ever since she’d flinched back at the Dorian Gray party. It was a challenge to remind herself not to care.

“So you decided to climb in through my window? Are you fucking insane? I would have shot you!” She danced out of his reach and landed among the broken mirror shards. The distance was safer.

“I didn’t know what else ta do! I was worr- Are… are ya bleedin’?” His brows knit together as his eyes landed on her hand. It was too late to hide it from his view and she stiffened under his scrutiny.

“I’m fine,” she answered flatly and fixed her gaze on the open window behind him. He must have picked the lock, she realized. The thoughts of changing them faded when she remembered her fate and how closely it was approaching. How she was supposed to be pushing him away for his own good. How she should tell him to leave, scream for her servants, something,  _ anything _ . She stood amid the sea of glass and broken edges and waited in silence.

He swept the hat off his head and ran a hand through short golden locks. Sand, though God only knew how he still managed to shed it here in London, littered the floor and contributed to the mess. “Jez...I- but.” He shook his head, let his hand drop. She felt his eyes settle on her and the rest of his words tumbled out. “I was worried ‘bout ya. Stop lyin’. Ya aren’t fine. If ya don’t wanna talk ‘bout it, I understand, but don’t tell me ya are fine.”

She opened her mouth to protest and accidentally made eye contact. All the words died in her mouth. His bags were deeper than hers, valley green eyes battling a storm in their depths. His stubble had grown into a scruff, as though he hadn’t shaved properly in a few days. His worry rolled off him in palpable waves and Jezabel felt a twist in her heart when she realized she’d broken his. There was a difference between knowing and seeing it. Knowing it had been the easy part.

“I’m-” she began. Stopped. Breathed. Shook her head. Set her mouth into a hard line of determination. “Bleeding.” It wasn’t what she had meant to say, but it was too late to take it back. 

“Okay,” he said and took a step towards her. When she didn’t run, he crossed the little remaining distance and gently lifted up her hand. His skin was warm, almost comfortingly so, and it was only then she realized how cold she was. She braced herself for him to ask why she punched the mirror, why she hadn’t wanted anyone to see her, why she flinched, why her eyes were red, why she had cut everyone off the last few days. “Do ya have bandages?” he asked instead and it was those simple words that made her want to cry.

“Yes.” She said with more steel than she felt. “In the vanity. Third drawer down from the top. It has everything.” 

Leo released her and his absence was stronger than his presence. He crossed to the other side of the room to her mahogany vanity. As he rifled through the drawer to grab the materials, she gave her room a quick sweep, searching for anything inappropriate he might see out of instinct. Her bed was made, the deep red covers neatly drawn up. The closet door was shut tight, none of her clothes left out for him to see, nor the bag she’d begun to pack. The mirror that hung over the door remained in its spot, though the glass she was standing among proved that not all was right in the room. Her matching mahogany end tables were clear of liquor bottles, likely thanks to the servants earlier that day. Her couch had been replaced to its spot by the fireplace, after she’d shoved it across the room during an earlier fit. The chair was back in its corner too, the curtains drawn save for the one Leo had entered through. The deep maroon and black coloring suddenly felt too oppressive and she bit back an admission to her embarrassment. It felt childish and she ran her good hand through her hair to detangle the knots.

Leo returned, a bottle of whiskey under his arm, bandages, tape, and tweezers in his hands. He nodded to the couch and she took a seat, sinking into the cushions while he crouched in front of her. He set his hat down beside her and his duster pooled around him on the floor. He took her hand again and took up the tweezers to slowly pick the glass shards from her skin. The silence between them wasn’t the easy kind that she was used to and everything she didn’t say piled up in her throat. 

“I needed to feel something break,” she said at last. He didn’t look up, although she saw his brows raise. He didn’t press either and she was grateful for that. “I needed to be in control again.”

“Ya don’t have to tell me,” He answered carefully. The pile of glass beside him on the floor grew. Jez steadily ignored the ache in her hand. 

“I know. I… I wanted to.” She paused and watched as he turned the bottle of whiskey upside down over a strip of cloth. His metal arm balanced her hand as his human one dabbed at her wound. The sting was nothing compared to the hollow void in her chest. Her regrets were stacked higher than the words she had hidden between the ones she was saying. Her mental string of curses only grew louder and longer, but she kept talking anyway. Those days alone, pent up fear, frustration, hatred hadn’t done any good, but this stolen moment was. For the first time since Lucas Kenward had said Eric’s name, she was able to pretend everything would be alright. And that was valuable to a woman who believed she would die come morning. “Everything feels like it’s falling apart.”

“But ya aren’t,” Leo said. He lifted his head and the conviction was heavy in his expression. 

“Yes, I am,” she whispered and rapidly blinked away the tears gathering on her lashes.

“Jez-” he began and reached a metal hand towards her. Stopped. Held it in the distance between them. His eyes refracted the broken shards like a broken heart when she’d flinched and turned away. She could see herself leaving, over and over and over again. She could see too goddamn clearly how he couldn’t bear it again. 

_ Save him the pain of tomorrow _ , her inner voice demanded. 

_ The first step to destroying that kind of monster is realizing what kind of hold they have over you _ , Irie’s words. 

_ He is your hold, your weakness, the weapon to sever you in two.  _

_ You don’t have to give him up _ , Blythe’s voice argued.

Pain, hold, don’t. Let him go, give him up, stop giving a shit. His hand was still poised between them, waiting and waiting and waiting. Her breaths were unsteady, the world beyond him spun. He was the only thing still and constant in her world of motion. 

_ You’ll break his heart all over again _ , her conscience snarled. 

_ And what about mine? Don’t I deserve this little patch of happiness? _

And suddenly Jez knew how she wanted to spend her last night here, breathing in freedom with a heart as cracked and broken as her mirror. The decision felt like it’d been made since the moment he’d climbed in through her window. She closed the distance between them in a heartbeat, knocking his arm aside, her lips meeting his. His fingers scraped her bloody knuckles and she swallowed the hiss of pain along with her doubts. For a moment somewhere between a second and eternity, he didn’t move. Then all at once, his arms wrapped around her frame and he was kissing her back. 

It was everything she remembered and more. Gone were the reservations and false pretenses, this was real, this was them. He was a powder keg, an unruly explosion. He was a desert storm, coarse edges, relentless heat, losing oneself in familiar surroundings. He was Leo, fit with a boyish grin and hard American twang, her axis, the thing that kept her spinning. 

The kiss was a release of tension, a band snapping back into place, three years of  _ nothing  _ becoming  _ something  _ in a single moment. Where the kiss at Dorian’s party had been the sudden loss of control, a forced confrontation of everything she’d never said, this felt like a choice, a confession. A three year secret they’d been sheltering, ignoring, avoiding. She could taste it on his lips.

Those harbored doubts that they both hid melted into the spaces between them, it was nearly palpable. He wound an arm around her waist, the second hand coming to rest lightly against her cheek. He tasted like coffee and a hint of something sharper, maybe whiskey. She slid off the couch to kneel on the floor in front of him so she could kiss him properly. He smiled against her.

When they were both breathless, they broke apart, foreheads touching and breaths shared. Their eyes met and she could tell he was counting the heartbeats. He was waiting for her to run.

There was doubt, a flicker, a shadow, in his mind and hers. He was waiting for her to deliver the blow. She was waiting for him to kiss her again. The words  _ is this a mistake _ balanced between them, so precarious, a stray breeze could have knocked it over and changed the course they were on. 

His hand slid from her cheek and entwined their fingers. Together. Somehow, that was answer enough. He ran a thumb over her bloody knuckles and she didn’t blink. “Should I-” Leo began, his voice hushed. The words didn’t tremble, neither did his hands. He was steady, certain.

“Leave it.” She said. He sucked in a breath, waiting for the inevitable  _ and me _ that would follow. The words rose. Jezabel choked them down. He waited for her to say something. She waited for him to wake up and push her away. Neither of them moved and it was three years of indecision crammed into the minutes ticking by. She was so damn sick of waiting. And if this was her last night? She could ignore the voices in her head. She could afford to be reckless.

“Jez-”

“Leo-” They began together and laughed. She squeezed his hand hard and he squeezed back. “You first,” she insisted.

He pulled back and for a moment, her heart clenched, certain this was the moment she’d feared. But their hands stayed tangled and his metal one rose to brush a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Ya remind me of the stars,” he said.

“What? Why?”

“ ‘Cause,” he continued, simply. Matter of factly. She wanted to kiss him again, but the words mattered more. “Ya are the brightest thing in m’ life. I just… I needed ta tell ya.”  _ Translation: I love you. _

“Is that why you won’t leave?” The words were out before she could stop herself. He didn’t look surprised.  _ Don’t say things you don’t mean. _

“One of ‘em.”  _ I mean it _ . “Do ya want me ta go?”

“No.” It came out too fast. Insistent. Desperate. She hated it. Her face stayed blank, but she knew he was pushing her mask aside with those warm green eyes.

He cleared his throat. “What were ya gonna say?”

“Oh. Well.” She didn’t want to just feed him a line, something stupid and meaningless. Poetry and pretty words had never been her specialty. She had to tell him, make sure he’d understand and-

She let go of his hand and pushed up her sleeve. The bracelet he’d given her came loose and jangled around her wrist. The silver shone. His breath stopped. Her heart skipped a beat. “I wear it everyday. Usually under something. I don’t want it to break or get lost.”

“It should be durable,” he replied. “Strong ‘nough to handle anythin’.” The ruby rose winked at him.

“I couldn’t bear to lose it.” She answered. 

Maybe she moved first. Maybe he did. Maybe it didn’t matter because their lips had met again, softly. Slowly. The unsaid parts speaking in their movements as she pulled herself into his lap and he wound his arms tight around her, a silent promise never to let go. She was good at silence. It was easier not to make promises she couldn’t keep.  _ Let me have this, even if tomorrow kills us both, let me have this _ .

His hands slipped to her waist, too warm against the fabric. She could feel every movement, the barest swipe of his thumb against the silk of her shirt. Her teeth lightly scraped against his bottom lip and he shivered. Their lips stayed locked and she pressed a hand against his chest, his heartbeat thundering against her palm, while the other tangled in golden locks. Her fingers bunched his shirt, the cotton rough on her hands and he gave her waist a reactionary squeeze.

He broke away first, sucked in a breath, then peppered a line of quick kisses against her jaw. Her hand slipped from his shirt and travelled lower, running quick lines across the waistband of his pants. His breaths were hot on her skin, urgent, rapid fire. On instinct, Jez tilted back her head to allow him better access, until his lips brushed her neck and she stiffened. “Not there,” she murmured. When had her voice become so breathless? Maybe he heard it or realized where this was going. Where she wanted it to go. **_(_ ** Three years was an awfully long time and if she had to die come morning, she could die having finally let herself live. **_)_ **

He was hard against her. It was noticeable as she shifted to meet his gaze, looking to read him. Find out where this would lead. The hesitation was plain on his expression. He moved his hands to her shoulders, pushing her away, half impossible considering she was still in his lap. She resisted the urge to squirm and held steady. The question was in his eyes before it was on his lips. “Jez are ya-”

“Yes. Leo, yes, God damn it, yes.” She wound her fingers tighter into his shirt and yanked him forward with a desperation she didn’t realize she possessed. He was flush against her, all traces of hesitation gone as she gave him no reason to question what she wanted.

Leo said something against her lips that might have been her name. Her grip tightened on his hair as she dragged his mouth back down to meet hers. His low chuckle reverberated between them, the sound coarse. “What?” She huffed, the word coming out too fast, impatient. 

“The bed?” A pause. His lips torturous inches from her own. The sound of his voice was more important than the words. Was it a little husky or was it her imagination? “ ‘Cause of the glass, ya could get hurt. And are ya sure ‘bout the bandages? For your knuckles?”

“Fine, bed. Yes. I’m fine,” she agreed and moved in for another kiss. 

“Jez,” he said. There was more distance between them, her mouth searching empty space and air. “Promise ya are alright?” Worry on his brow, threatening to overtake and ruin the moment.

She heaved a sigh, met rolling green hill eyes. Held them, steady for the first time since she’d heard Eric’s name. “Promise. If you’re here, I’m alright.”

The next kiss was slow, lingering, the feel still on her lips even when he rose and offered a hand for her to do the same. Their fingers clasped tight. She stood. She was level with his chest and had to tilt her head to see his face. His hand released hers. Jezabel exhaled and set her palms at his waist. With infinite care, she slid them up over his chest to his shoulders, sliding the duster from his frame. The smile reached his eyes, though when she slipped it off, his gaze followed it.

The material was slick and heavy and she had to fight to keep it from trailing on the floor. His attention wavered between them and Jez eased the coat into his arms. She could wait. An extra five minutes wouldn’t kill her. You know, probably. He blinked. Smiled again. The gratitude flickered across his features, an extra line around his mouth, a hint of a wider smile. Folded the jacket with care and set it on her sofa, his hat now resting on top of it. Kicked off his boots so they waited at the end of the couch. She deposited her bandages atop the vanity, pausing only to take a swig of whiskey. The doubts burned as it scorched the back of her throat.

The bottle landed with a  _ thunk _ , his hands on her waist with a whisper. His breath disturbed her curtain of hair and his next kiss landed against her ear. She shivered and leaned back against him. His lips carved a path down her cheek before she spun to meet him. He chuckled against her mouth and Jezabel steered him back until they were mere steps from the bed.

The French doors rattled, a storm began to lash outside. The rain beat in a steady smooth rhythm. He kept an arm around her waist, but their faces separated. The world outside was calling to him, she could hear the siren song of its doubts. She felt them too, but buried them deep with the questions and fears of what the morning could bring. Leo wasn’t so certain, “Jez-” 

“I want this. I want you.”

He shot her a crooked grin. “I was gonna ask if ya wanted me to shut the window. But I want ya too.”

She scoffed and leaned away. “How can you be thinking about windows at a time like this?”

“Aw, Jez, I was just trynna protect the carpet.” He reeled her back in. 

“I’ll buy a new one.” She shrugged and matched his grin. There was an easiness to the shared smiles, a reminder that underneath whatever came next, Leo would always be her best friend. He made it feel as though this wasn’t the first time, but the thousandth, only affirmed when he brushed back a strand of hair from her cheek.

“Whatcha thinkin’ ‘bout?” 

“How badly I want to kiss you,” she declared. She grabbed the collar of his shirt and dragged his mouth back down to hers before he could answer. His hands plunged into her dark locks, her fingers fumbled with the buttons on her proper English vest. She slid the fabric from her shoulders in a smooth movement and heard the cloth and crumple to the floor. His fingers slid through her hair and traced their way against her back, stopping at the leather band that secured her knives.

“Are you looking to disarm me, Leonardo Monguel?” She teased, their mouths barely apart. “Looking to leave me defenseless?”

“Ya are a force to be reckoned with, even without your knives.” He smiled, even as he made quick work of removing the blades. “ ‘Sides, only I can make disarming jokes.”

“You and your metal arm jokes.” She rolled her eyes, then smirked and stepped away, hands raised to signal a surrender. “You missed some. Want to try again?”

“Hmm,” he answered and closed the distance, hands against her shoulders. “Is this a test?”

“Maybe.” She flashed him again and kept her hands in the air, even as his slowly traced a path down her figure. He moved tantalizingly slow, the soft press of the silk betraying his every movement. His path took him first up her arms, latching onto the two knives against her forearms. Then he travelled down her chest, pausing to make sure she felt his presence against her breasts before he shifted to her ribs. He tapped against the metal on either side, then found the planes of her stomach and the guns at her waist. It was all she could do not to move.

Leo stepped behind her and his touch was back, flowing down her spine, caressing her ass, then slowly down her legs. He tapped again against each blade, removing another pair from beneath her pants just above her ankles. He looked up with a grin and she sent the two blades against her arms spinning into her bed frame.

“Show off,” he said.

“You like it.”

“Maybe.” He stood again and let her knives fall away.

“Your turn.” She bunched her fingers in his shirt before nudging it up to his ribs. Her thumbs brushed a path up his skin and she felt his breath catch. Leo pulled his shirt over his head, the fabric adding to the growing pile on the floor. He shifted closer and she placed a gentle hand on his chest, taking a moment to admire the smooth planes of his torso and marked scars. His skin was an off-white, the hint of a long forgotten tan. Faint lines hinted at muscle, understated, beautiful. He breathed and she watched thin, jagged scars ripple.

Somehow it looked different than the half-dozen times she’d seen him like this over the years. More intimate, now that she’d finally let herself really look. Her palms traced the planes of his chest. He radiated heat and his hands captured hers gently. When he pressed his lips to her fingertips, she let herself look up and into his quiet eyes, expectant, patient. She could feel the words reverberate between them, though they were clearly swallowed hard in the silence.  _ I love you _ .

The world slowed, narrowed, dimmed. The storm outside was a thousand years away, the only thing that mattered was what came next. Their lips met tenderly, Leo stooping down to reach her. It was an endless kind of feeling, weightlessness, timelessness, a night that could last forever in these stolen moments. The room was a sanctuary, maybe the last one Jezabel had.

She broke the kiss first, the tip of her nose brushing his. Their hands were still clasped and with a steady grip, she guided him to the buttons on her gentleman’s shirt. He undid the first four, laughing when he nudged the fabric aside. The sound drowned out the noise in her head, the feel stirring the hair against her cheek. She smiled reflexively. “What?”

“This ain’t a corset.” He continued to undo the buttons, letting the fabric fall to the side to reveal what passed for undergarments.

“New invention, they call it a bra. It’s only for the wealthy. Much easier than a corset.” She gestured to the article with its cups for her breasts and the straps that ran over her shoulders. 

“Corsets do seem complicated.”

“I would have helped you.”

“And how would ya have done that?”

“What do you think all the knives are for?” She flashed him a teasing smile and slid the shirt from her shoulders. The fabric crumpled around her feet and she turned so her back was to him. “Mind helping me out of this?”

“Mmm, not at all,” he hummed. With care, he swept her hair from her back so that it settled against her shoulder. The pads of his fingers skimmed her back and she reflexively leaned into the touch. He traced a path down her spine and paused at the fabric, the sound of their breaths and undone satin ribbon filling the space. The bra loosened then came free as Leo eased it from her shoulders with the last of her daggers. Both landed among their shirts, he pressed his lips to her shoulder.

“Ya have a lotta scars,” he murmured and each breath struck her, hot and light like a summer breeze. She vaguely realized that his mouth was tracing an old puckered scar on her shoulder.

“Yes,” she said and remained perfectly still.

“Tell me ‘bout this one,” his bottom lip caressed it as he spoke.

“Training accident. Went in too hard and too fast, caught a blade in the shoulder. They told me I was reckless.”

“Ya are,” his laugh was throaty, low. 

“Only with you,” she answered and tread the thin line of the words that were supposed to go unsaid. 

“And this one?” He had moved to the base of her neck, just above her spine. A shallow scratch, less puckered skin and more of a faint line. It had a funny way of standing out against the backdrop of her dark hair.

“Vampire grabbed my hair. His nail caught my skin and gave me a scratch.” He gave her a soft kiss, while his hand idly ran along another scar just visible over the line of her pants, running down from the knob of her hip. He didn’t have to ask, the question proved to be ingrained in the silence.

“Vampire struggle over a stake. She overpowered me but had a bad angle. Deeper rather than long. Maybe five inches at most.” She turned and his palm scraped against her as they faced one another. He leaned forward and pressed another kiss, feather light, to the puncture wound above her breast, where she’d once upon a time been bitten. He didn’t ask. She didn’t repeat the story.

“I have a lot of them. It would take years for you to know all their stories,” she said instead.

“What ‘bout the important ones?” He peered up at her through long gold lashes. It was like peering through autumn leaves to the green forest floor below. Her breath caught in her chest and Jezabel wanted nothing more than to kiss him all over again.

“There’s three now.” She self consciously raised a hand to her cheek where the long scratch marks were still healing. His eyes tracked the movement and he retreated a few precious inches. Maybe he was searching for others. Maybe his neck had gotten a crick from stooping down to reach her.

“And the third? That the hip one?” 

“No.” She said and his eyes widened as he realized his mistake. In their three years, he’d never seen the result of the horror story she’d told him. The marks the fire had left, so deep she was scarred to the bone. 

“Jez-” He began and she knew what was coming.  _ You don’t have to tell me, you don’t have to show me. It’s okay _ . His eyes screamed it while his mouth fumbled for the words. She cut him off with a motion, undoing her holster first, the unease of the gun rattling as a translation of her own swirling thoughts. Then came her breechers and she slid them off in an abrupt, curt movement. 

His eyes followed the motion, his lips stopping mid-word. Knowing and seeing were different things. He was finally seeing. The skin was discolored and wrinkled, pockmarked, shriveled. An uneven cobblestone road that climbed from her feet to halfway up her thighs. It was more of a dark pink, a patchwork pattern of blemishes full of dips, grooves, every muscle and imperfection evident. The grafts had helped repair the worst of it, but even science and magic couldn’t erase the horrible scarring. And even if it could, Jezabel wasn’t sure she’d want it to.

He reached out with his metal hand and she flinched back. She focused on the wall behind him and struggled not to move, to remain still. Something roiled in her stomach, something between nerves and self consciousness. Maybe a disastrous combination that set her on edge. Her nails dug into her palms in an involuntary fist as she fought desperately for something like composure. His eyes hadn’t left her scars. “I don’t want your pity,” she said. It was meant as a snarl and came out with a crack on the last word.

“It’s not pity,” Leo answered and closed the distance she’d put between them. Cold metal met her cheek and cupped her chin. “It’s admiration. God, ya are so strong Jez, do ya know that? I dunno anybody else that coulda survived this. Ya are strong and beautiful and that’s why I-” he stopped but she knew how that sentence ended. The thin line was blurring.

There were no lapels of his shirt to grab, so instead she hooked her thumbs over the band of his trousers and drew him close. His heat reverberated against her, skin hot, flushed, as she brought their lips together yet again. It captured between them the words they weren’t saying, laced with a poisonous sort of passion. The kind that reminded her of an inevitable downfall.

Had he pushed her back or had she pulled him down? Jezabel wasn’t sure, only certain that the satin sheets pillowed her head and he hovered a few precious inches above her. A hand, human, tangled in her long tresses. Her own hands were still on his waist and when she tried to pull him lower, the butt of his guns dug into her skin. “Leo,” it was supposed to come out normally and was instead in the shape of a moan. “Your revolvers.”

He rocked back on his heels, fingers fumbling with the belt, missing the clasps. The metal clinked incessantly and Jez sat up to ease the worn leather out of its hold. With an amazing amount of patience, she slowly tugged his belt, inch by inch, until at last it was free and on the floor. The revolvers rattled as they struck the ground, the thuds certainly loud enough to be heard by her servants. The rest of that thought faded as she laid back against the sheets and Leo lowered himself to press a kiss to her lower leg. 

The skin tingled and perhaps he realized the effect he was having on her because his mouth traced a slow line up. He was fair, she realized as his breaths struck first on her right leg, then her left as he climbed her calves to her thighs with languishing kisses.  _ Must be the American in him _ . The thought dissolved as he made his way higher still. He paused, head raised so their eyes met, the slightest breath felt through the thin fabric of her undergarments. Her hands had bunched the sheets at her side, the fabric too warm against her palms. “Ya are so beautiful,” he murmured.

His thumb hooked through the loop of her underwear and agonizingly dragged it down, his skin just barely touching hers. Jez gasped and her fingers clenched in the sheets. His mouth followed in slow, rich kisses. Her breathing hitched as he found the inside of her leg once more and worked his way up, faster breaths and bottom lip dragging against her. 

“Leo-  _ fuck _ .” Again, breathless, stolen air barely leaving her lips as his thief’s fingers slid inside her. The air no longer in her lungs was flush between her legs as he started a slow pace with his hand, his mouth precious inches from her clit. She shifted her hips and whatever place he had touched inside her burned. The expletives came out in a long string, broken up only by his name and she gripped the sheets tighter still.

His pace didn’t change, but his angles did and it took every ounce of her willpower not to squirm against him. When his tongue hesitantly touched her folds, a moan slipped out. She threw her head back against the bed, eyes shut, focused entirely on the feeling of burning desire building and building. His mouth and fingers worked against her, caressing and slow, reverent. Jez wanted to kill him. 

When it was nearly too much, she pulled away, the motion dizzying from the sudden loss. He raised himself onto his elbows, the concern peppering his brow, green eyes lit by a fire she’d never seen before.  _ Desire, lust _ , she registered dimly. Then she had him by the wrists, dragging him up towards her to taste his mouth, one foot now flat against the bedspread while the other hooked around his waist and then. Their lips met and there was something else beneath the burn of whiskey. She swiped her tongue against his bottom lip, tasted him, swallowed his groan. His lips parted and she began to explore with the same tantalizing slowness he’d tortured her with. Mouths mid-collision, she twisted and he followed her lead, the movement surprisingly fluid, until he was on his back and she was straddling him, knees pressing onto deep red covers. He sat up to meet her, hands everywhere, trails of electricity against her skin while she raked a hand over his scalp and traced unrefined abs, dipping low to feel him begin to lose it against her lips.

They broke apart and her name was a whispered stream on his lips  _ JezJezJezJez _ , endless, unbroken, the brink of desperation. Green fire eyes, burning as his mouth burned her jaw then her breasts, cresting their rise, avoiding her neck. His stubble scratched and rubbed the swell of her breasts, the roughest part of him against the softest piece of her. This wasn’t slow, this was hard and fast, emptying the clip, pulling the trigger. The metaphors and analogies fell away as his teeth scraped her nipple and she growled. His gaze flicked to hers at the sound and god damn he was hard against her. 

The three year wait suddenly felt like three lifetimes, even three minutes felt like another hour and that was too long. Anything other than the reckless and impulsive  _ right now _ was far too long. She did not fiddle with his trousers, undoing the buttons without even a second glance, and made unladylike quick work of them. He shimmied out of his pants and she heard them crumple unceremoniously to the floor when he kicked them off the bed. Her fingers returned to their spot, skimming the lines of his erection, letting his jagged breaths tell her where to touch. The fabric of his undergarments tented with her ministrations, straining further.

The smirk fell when his metal hand, frigid ice that raised goosebumps where it went, cupped her breast, beaded nipple between his fingers then came his mouth and tongue crafting patterns and designs and- “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” all in rapid succession. His chest was heaving and every improper word piled up against her lips which she pressed to his neck. Her kisses smoldered like his hands and she left bruises on the off-white of his skin, claiming his neck, his shoulders, the base of his throat as hers. He moaned again and that was her undoing.

His underwear came off slower, almost like what they were doing caught up with her. He lay back without a word, eyes holding hers, and good Lord had they always been this beautiful? Not the gentle hills she was used to, but bright dawn wildfire, glinting green, muggy rainforests, dripping dew off green stalks. “Leo,” she whispered. “Leo.”

She roved the planes of his chest, feeling his breaths catch in his lungs, the beat of his heart as hard as the rain, and kissed him long and softly. “Leo,” she murmured into his mouth, as if his very name could shake free all the meanings that had gathered between her chest and tongue, piling up until she was full of everything unsaid. _ I will die tomorrow having loved you. I won’t leave you ever again. I wish I had never walked away. I wish this was three years ago. I love you, I love you, too little, too much, too soon, too late, I love you, Leonardo Monguel. _ “Leo.”

They kissed and he eased into her. Her breath stalled, hitched, came out in a gasp. His voice stuttered out syllables “aahhh” mixed with “ohhh,” an incoherent word or lost phrase. For a second, neither of them moved, three years of everything hovering between them. Then Jezabel twined their hands together, pinning his human one to the sheets while the metal one dug into the bone of her hip. Her hips rocked, hands tightened, eyes held steady.

She was expecting sex. She’d done it before with other men, head thrown back against the pillows, relishing in a feeling, eyes closed, lost in the moment. That was all about sensations, it didn’t matter who he was or who she was, only that he would touch her. That was sex. This was not.

She’d expected to forget who was with her, but with every touch, her mind echoed his name. Leo, Leo, Leo,  _ Leo _ . Her mouth mumbled it in breaths and gasps, tasting it like she tasted him. Where they touched didn’t make her burn with passion, but smolder with something else. Something more reverential, delicate, harder to pin down and name. They moved slowly against one another.

It was supposed to be sex. It was supposed to be rhythms, needy sounds, not steady heartbeats and slow explorations. His metal hand running across her thigh, up her side, toying with a lock of hair against her neck. Not gentle movements, her pace set as slow as the lulling rain, savoring every movement of their bodies. Not kisses that were precious, idling over skin. Not a radiating warmth of a fireplace, beads of sweat more like diamonds. They weren’t supposed to make love.

But they did. Even as she shifted to find her better angle, even when the pace changed, riding the thin line between a climb of passion and desire and the desperation of waiting so long, even when the grip on her waist turned hard as he grew closer and closer, it felt like making love. Her name was a prayer on his lips, spoken in hushed whispers against her skin, the hollow of her ear, the dip of her collarbone, the junction of her shoulder, the delicate skin of her breast. His own was nestled between sacrilege, God, fuck, shit, bloody, Leo all in one quick line, almost always said against his lips or neck while her free hand ran through his hair. 

“GodfuckLeodamnbloodyfuckingshit.” The lights danced and thunder roared as she crested and chased the high. Her hips jerked and the ramping tension in her belly, the burn of desire, released all at once as she came and him barely a moment later. 

“Jez, Jez, Jez, Jez, Jez,” breathless and beautiful, the harshness of her name a stark contrast to the way he said it. His head was thrown back against the sheets, chest slick with sweat, eyes shut, mouth open, lips shiny, golden hair a halo on red sheets. So stunning it made her chest ache. Their faces were inches apart and when she finally came down, she joined their lips artfully in a kiss from hell as they rode out heaven.

Her other hand remained tangled with his, white knuckles and viper grips. He released her with borderline reluctance and it was only then that Jezabel sank onto the bed beside him. His grin was incredible, boyish and sweet, as he readjusted, his head resting among her luxurious pillows, arm stretched out to give her room on his chest. She hesitated three heartbeats, then moved. Her head rested against his heartbeat, the thrum a staccato of lurches and uneven measures. His arm wrapped around her, running his fingers down her skin, stopping as though to pluck her scars. She tugged the blanket up and settled it around their waists before adding her own calligraphy to the flat of his abdomen. His heart steadied and his chest rumbled low as he hummed a quiet song.

She shifted and a flash of silver caught the light. Her bracelet from Leo. She’d never taken it off. His gaze landed on it too, and she could hear him thinking the exact same thing. The meaning was too obvious, the gesture too fitting, and Jez swallowed a string of sentences that wanted to run together like her sex-mussed cussing. 

The new silence felt fragile and she couldn’t help but hate it. Topics swooped in and out of her mind, none sticking for longer than a split second, the daze of the last few hours still settling into her memory. She floundered, found a memory, latched on, and managed to mumble a coherent question. “You once told me there was adventure everywhere, if you knew how to find it. So where did you find it?”

“Other than with ya?” He said and she discovered how different a chuckle was from a hum in the cavity of his chest.

“Yes, Leo, other than with me.” The eye roll was implied.

“There was gettin’ ta New York, that was an adventure, ‘cause I was on the run. The boat was borin’ but we docked in Portugal where I met Mal, she’s like Blythe I’suppose. I wandered through Spain, France, Germany, even Italy for ‘bout a year, got into trouble, met some new people. But that was only a tiny piece of the world. There’s still so much more out there,” he said with a breathless rapture that served to captivate her. His fingers traced a map across her skin, imprinting her with mountains, valleys, rivers, and cities, the promise of adventure taking root. She responded with nonsense on the flat of his stomach, meaningless to swallow the urge towards a commitment she couldn’t make.

“Just how much do you want to see?”

“All of it. The whole world-heck the whole  _ universe _ . What ‘bout ya?”

“I could see the whole universe, as long as I came back. London will always be home.”

“Ya and me then. Across the universe and back.”

“Across the universe and back.” It was simultaneously the easiest and hardest lie she’d ever told. Hard knowing she was making false promises of dawns and happiness, out of her reach, snatching it out of his too. Easy knowing that at least they’d never take the first step. If she had, she might never have stopped.

The lights were still on. It vaguely occurred to her to shut them off and she stirred. Her restless energy triggered his own and she felt the covers quiver beneath his erratic bouncing fingers. The lights were still on and burned while his fingers tapped and the rain beat. Her mind turned in circles in the silence until Jez could take it no longer and she untangled herself from his embrace.

“Where are ya goin’?” A flash of panic, lightning in green eyes, the barest quaver on the first word. She tried not to look guilty as she slid out from the covers. The air was cool and goosebumps prickled first her shoulders before running across her figure in uneasy currents. The carpet caught her feet while the wood seemed intent on freezing them. She straightened her spine and crossed the floor, pretending she didn’t feel his eyes as haunting as the promise of tomorrow. 

“Just to dim the lights. Promise. I’m not going anywhere.”  _ Lie _ . 

“Do ya mean it?”

“Yes.”  _ Lie _ . 

“Okay.”

“Okay.”  _ Lie _ . A string of them. Just like her string of curses cradled against his mouth.  _ Lielielielielie _ , a liar, oh what a goddamn liar. The accusation sat heavily in her throat and constrained her breaths. Could he hear it? Jez risked a glance and found his eyes locked on her naked form. Unsurprising, but somehow worse now that she’d caught him. Something lurked, a shadow, a hint that something was wrong. He had the tendency of knowing when she didn’t want him to know what was on her mind. Never what, but he knew. She dimmed the guilt and the lights, the dial reversing under her touch. 

His arms were open, face hiding the edges of a hovering shadow.  _ Wariness _ , she thought, moving back towards the bed. The anticipation of waiting for her to leave. It sat between them, unspoken. She vaguely wondered if the feeling would ever leave, if she had the ability to stay. Her chest hollowed out and she sucked in a breath that didn’t fit right in her lungs. Breaking his heart would leave them both scarred. Again. She was only thankful she wouldn’t be there to see it happen.

She crawled beneath the covers once more and his arms were around her, vicelike. A panicked grip of a man waiting for her to vanish in a puff of smoke and thin trails of air. He wasn’t wrong. Jezabel couldn’t even blame him. She wanted to cry. She wanted to make real promises and stay. Instead, she curled into his warmth, cheek pressed to his chest, arms around his waist. His hung around her shoulders, metal hand back to tracing routes along her shoulder while the other stroked her hair. His hum had returned, thought Jez suspected it was more to comfort him than her. It echoed in his ribs in time with his heart. They didn’t speak.

She shouldn’t have been able to sleep. This was the last time she’d spend wrapped up in his arms, safe, warm,  _ home _ . She should have stayed awake and committed the hours to memory, tracing patterns over his skin until dawn, pressing a soft kiss to his lips, creating something to remember to get her through what was to come. To give her something to cling to the moment before she died.

Jezabel fell asleep in the circle of Leo’s arms.


	2. A Goodbye

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after, Jez has to make a decision which she can't turn back from.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is this scene important? No. Did I write it for the emotions? Yeah.
> 
> I also deeply apologize for my Victorian descriptions, I am just like this. Anyway, please enjoy!

Her eyes opened to the cracks in the clouds, dimmed morning light barely escaping the cover of the light drizzle overhead. It was a pre-dawn kind of light, with pale pink tendrils threading their way through overbearing clouds. A thick fog suffocated the street below. This wasn’t right. She had no memory of falling asleep.

The night before came back in hazy wisps, half-images, more dreamlike than realistic in quality. It came back in snatches, along with her consciousness, and she realized that what was draped against her hips wasn’t a blanket but an arm. Her back was not against a pillow, but a man’s chest, whose breaths lightly stirred the tips of her hair. She dared to twist her head, her still groggy mind trying to remember a name, coming up only with Leo’s. But that couldn’t be, could it? Would she have, knowing what the morning would bring for them both?

She held her breath, chest swollen, tight. Met the familiar planes of Leo’s face, a boyish grin even in his sleep, the thick line of shadow along his jaw, mussed hair golden as the morning sunshine.  _ Shit _ . The weight in her chest choked her heart. Almost as though he felt it, Leo pulled her closer, hooking his chin over her shoulder.  _ Fuck _ . She didn’t move, relishing the warmth of his chest against her back, the softness of his breath stirring her hair and caressing her cheek, the errant tap of his fingers against her skin in his sleep as though he was playing her like his beloved guitar. The dawn strayed closer, the gentle climb through barely curtained windows.  _ I can’t stay _ .

Inching out from Leo’s embrace pulled and snapped her heartstrings with the growing distance. His hands left trails, the stray brush of skin across her body as she pulled away, sending involuntary shivers down her spine. Another set of scars to add to her collection, the invisible places that he touched that were imprinted on her memory if not physically. When his hand fell to the covers and he cocooned himself deeper into her blankets, she got of bed in sharp, jagged movements.

She crossed the room shortly. Her naked reflection echoed in a thousand shattered mirrors. She ignored their clothes strewn across the room and instead made her way across the sea of glass with great care. A part of her hoped one of the shards would cut her feet so she would leave something behind in this room, some part of her that felt real to act as proof that this place had once been hers. She didn’t cut her feet.

The bag was waiting in the darkness, the set of clothes she’d selected resting limply on top. Eric would hate it. He liked her sleek, dazzling dresses of deep colors, red to stand against the ebony of her hair, dark green to match the pine forests of his eyes, a golden yellow to glow like a sun to pair with her younger sister, the evening star. Something proper, ladylike, respectable. Even in surrender, she refused to give up the little she had left. 

Jezabel dressed in her gentlemen’s clothes. Tailored black trousers, slim white ruffled shirt, black vest with gold buttons, her brother’s weathered dark blue cravat, tall feminine black boots, hair piled high under her favorite top hat. The mirrors glinted as she pulled on her coat. Eric would hate every inch of it. And that was before the guns and stakes and knives were hidden in every conceivable sheath. Maybe she’d get lucky and he’d have a heart attack when he saw her. Or he would, if he wasn’t already dead.

She tipped her hat and slung the bag over her shoulder. She made it to the door before she turned back. He’d shifted, arm against his forehead, golden locks rumpled against the pillow. His mouth was open and a little bit of drool was sliding across his cheek. Her heart clenched and her breaths tightened. Her hand touched the cool knob, his bracelet slid forward and collided with her wrist. She blinked, memorized the perfect way he lay in her bed. Turned back to the vanity and opened the drawers until she secured a pen and scrap of paper.

The first note was too much. Sentimental. Longing.  Loving . She rolled it with quick fingers and slid it into her pocket, a choice for another time, a message for another day. It was safer this way. Her next attempt was shorter, a quick scrawl that read with the right amount of haste. She reread it one last time.  _ Sorry to leave like this. Emergency hunt. Be back in a few days. You’re welcome here _ . It said too much and not enough, but it would have to do. She tucked it under his hat and crossed back to the door. She didn’t look back as she slipped out of the room.

The halls were quiet, the undisturbed type of softness that came with the first cracks of dawn and the wee hours of the night, the hush that tended to settle over the world as so little stirred. She assumed that the house would be empty, the servants and Leo asleep. Yet there, at the bottom of the stairs waited James, as if he knew. It wouldn’t be the first time. But it would probably be the last.

“Good morning, Lady Blackwood,” he said. 

“Good morning, Mr. Roberts,” she replied and briskly marched down the stairs, as though he was used to seeing her awake before noon. “I’m headed out. Do take care of my guest upstairs.”

“I was not made aware of any guests, my lady,” James answered, with a touch of dryness. It was almost a respite and she was grateful.

“He was not expected.” She reached the bottom of the steps and plucked her coat from the hook by the door. It settled heavily on her shoulders, an extra weight to that around her heart. 

“May I ask where you’re going and if we should expect you this evening?” He phrased it like a question, but there was a softness to it. 

“You may not and you should not.” She stretched a hand out to the door and made the mistake of facing her friend. “Do take care.”

“I do not think you should go, my lady,” he said suddenly and closed some of the distance between them.

“I have to.”

“Lady Blackwood, Jezabel… Jez, if I may. There are other endings.” James said. He reached out and squeezed her shoulder.

“But none where I can guarantee their safety and happiness. Perhaps not tomorrow, but someday.”

“And what about yours, my lady?”

“Oh James,” her laugh was splintered. She had never deserved it. He should have known that. “You have to deserve such things and I do not. To kill a monster, you have to become one.”

“I don’t think you’re a monster, my lady, I think you’re a woman who has forgotten what it looks like beyond the walls of her heart.”

“Perhaps,” it came out a dreaded sigh. He gave her shoulder a final squeeze and let his hand fall. His brown eyes were kind, a sort of melted chocolate against his youthful face. “James, thank you for being my friend. Take care of yourself, alright?”

“And of your guest?” His smile was sad and he opened the door for her. The gesture did not make the act of leaving any easier.

“Him most of all.” She offered him a smile, then her hand. “Good day, Mr. Roberts.”

He took her hand and gave it a firm shake. It seemed like the ideal way to say goodbye. “And to you Lady Blackwood. The house will stand ready for your return.”

“Thank you, James.” Jez released his hand and slipped out the door, plunging into the pre-dawn streets to meet her waiting carriage. She didn’t look back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, I'll probably have chapter 3 up tomorrow and 4 up sometime this weekend, I hope! (Maybe a little after that, we'll see, but this has been a wip for over a year now, I want it finished at last...)


	3. A Journey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jezabel and Sebastian discuss what makes a life worth saving and who deserves it more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sebastian belongs to my wonderful best friend, she's [here](https://archiveofourown.org/users/eg1701/) on archive, who lets me borrow him for our game and also fics. He's very useful to kill off, oops. He's not dead here though (well... mostly not dead). Anyway, please enjoy some extra build-up to next chapter's extreme angst!

The carriage pulled up to the townhouse, not his, at the appointed hour. The young man stood under the glow of flickering candles on their wicks, soft light gracing him. He was a hollow and solitary figure. Jezabel wondered if the spot he waited by had any meaning, perhaps to him, perhaps to Leonora. She stretched across the seat and opened the door. Sebastian climbed in, politely removing his hat as he entered. His hair was not rumpled, but soft and neat.

“Good morning,” she said because there didn’t seem like much else to say. It felt too early to thank him for agreeing to let her die in his stead.

“Good morning,” he replied, maybe because he was being polite or he had nothing else to answer with. He tried on a small smile and Jezabel understood how Leonora could love him.

Brusquely, she rapped against the wall as he swung the door closed. There was the flick of the reins and the wheels turned, leading them through the London fog and mist to their destination. Perhaps her final destination. 

Sebastian stared out the window and she watched him in the quiet. The city rolled past. Was he scared, she wondered, was he grateful?

“Did you sleep?” Jez asked.

Sebastian shrugged. “Did you?”

“Enough.” 

The silence stretched on and the carriage rumbled down the London streets. The air still smelled of rain from the storm, though the drizzle had begun to wane. The summer heat had already begun to build. Light filtered in and glanced like a blow off of the dark city. It was almost enough to be beautiful. Jez chewed on her bottom lip and tried not to say goodbye aloud.

“Are you scared?” Sebastian posed the question and broke the fragile quiet.

“Not for me,” Jezabel replied and it was almost true. “Are you?”

“A little.” He was toying with his wedding band, her mirror image on the other side of the carriage. His green eyes met hers and God damn it, his look hurt. “Are you sure about this?”

She hesitated. _No_. “Sure enough.”

“My life isn’t worth yours,” Sebastian said. He looked sad? Sorrowful? Regretful? “I’ve had my time.”

“No, you haven’t.” Jez answered with as much steel and ice as she could muster. She was wary of his look, it reminded her too much of Leo. “That wasn’t living. You got married to the love of your life and you deserve that.”

“She needs you more, they all do,” he argued, though the resolve had hardened in her expression. “And I’m already dying. It should be me. She was alright without me once, she’ll be alright without me again. Please let me make this decision.”

“Maybe.” Her mind turned to Leo, the heat of his mouth against hers, the brush of his fingers over her scars, the safety of his arms. “But this is my fight and my monster. I’m only sorry you got dragged into it. The decision isn’t yours. Stop being noble and accept it.”

“But-” Sebastian began.

“No. It’s going to be me.” She tightened her hands in her lap so he wouldn’t see them shake. The bracelet slid coldly down her arm. She’d forgotten it was there. “It has to be me.”

Sebastian leaned across the carriage and placed a gentle hand atop hers. “Thank you,” he said. It was the right answer and the wrong one and she blinked back the sudden tears that wanted to roll down her cheeks. The fear beat against her chest, a trapped animal. She swallowed it.

“Yes.” Jez said because that seemed right somehow. He squeezed her hands. “Promise me one thing.”

“Anything,” and it was clear he meant it.

“Tell Leo… when he finds out. Tell him everything is his. And…” She paused, the next words as trapped as the heart pounding in her chest. It should be easy to say, considering this might be the one and only time she could. It wasn’t. Almost as if she’d spent so long repressing it, choking it down, that it was now instinct to hold it back. Even if this was the only way Leo might ever hear her say it.

“And?” Sebastian prompted.

She focused on the carriage’s interior rather than his face. Swallowed. Took another breath. “And… tell Leo that I’m sorry. For breaking his heart like this.”

“Lady Blackwood-”

“Jez. I’m about to give up everything for you. You can call me Jez.” Her laugh was bitter, hard, humorless. Dead.

“Is that all you’d like me to tell him, Jez?” He was gentle, if probing, and they both knew if she didn’t say it now, she never would.

“No. Make sure he knows that… that he was the closest thing I’ve had to happiness in a long time. That every moment with him was worth it. That I’m sorry that like his desert sunsets, I had to leave him in the dark.” _That I love him_ , but even now, she couldn’t force the words out between her clenched teeth.

“Okay.” Sebastian said and withdrew his hand. “Okay.”

“Wait,” she added. His head shot up, hopeful, like she might have reconsidered. Instead, Jezabel unbuttoned the cuff of her shirt and slid off the bracelet. From her pocket, she removed the note she’d almost left on the table for him to find. But then he’d know. Let him have his peace, even if it bought only a few hours, perhaps even a couple of days. “Wait till he comes to the theater asking questions. Tell him. Then give him this.”

She rolled the scrap of paper around the bracelet he’d given to her. The ink burned into her skin with its invisible weight. Handing it over to Sebastian took an impossible amount of strength and letting her message slip through her fingers made it feel real. “Promise me right now that you’ll wait to give it to him.”

Sebastian swallowed thickly and tucked her note into his pocket. She detected trace amounts of sorrow and regret, waiting on the frown of his mouth and drawn lines in his forehead. He looked like he wanted to refuse. Maybe he was thinking again of Leonora. “I promise.”

“Steel yourself,” Jezabel said. “We’ll be arriving soon.” She looked away and finished the ride in silence, her last words to Leo turning over and over again in her mind.

_Leo,_

_It’s easier to protect_ _~~you~~ _ _someone when you’re ahead. You still have a universe of adventures waiting for you. Never forget our promise: across the universe and back. I’ll find you again someday, amidst the stars._

_Yours,_

_Jez_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! The last chapter of mostly angst and whatever the tags say is coming up. I'll finish it, I have to, this has been a wip for a year. I will finish this stupid fic if it kills me.


	4. An Ending

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jezabel goes to make a deal with the devil, ready to trade her life for Sebastian's. When her past comes back to haunt her, she remembers that our mistakes never really leave us.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All of the bad stuff in the tags? It sure is here! There's probably some other not great stuff that's also in here, so apologies in advance. 
> 
> Anyway, please enjoy the last chapter!

He was purposefully keeping them waiting. Jezabel checked her pocket watch for the third in time in what was barely ten minutes. She’d begun to wear tracks in the dust of the sagging warehouse floor. Sebastian stood quietly behind her, hands stuffed deep into his pockets, a quiet and somber look on his face. They didn’t speak. The loudest sound was the scuff of her fine boots against the weathered wood. It was driving her insane.

“Lady Blackwood,” a voice called from a dark corner. It took all of her self-restraint not to whirl around, but cast a casual look over her shoulder. Had he been here the whole time? Or had her enemy approached on silent feet attempting to startle her? Jezabel felt any illusion of control slide away. “Or should I say Lord Blackwood, since you are clearly dressed as such.”

There was a sneer as he stepped from some dark corner, by a side door, she guessed. So he’d just arrived, probably parked the carriage around the corner so she wouldn’t hear him approach. The bastard. He stepped into the thin shaft of light, barely flinching as the sun struck his red hair and set it aglow like fire. His eyes were green, not the summertime of Leo’s or the calm spring of Sebastian’s. They were cold. Barely visible against the hollow of his jaw was the scar she’d left him, the wooden chair fragment having apparently been good for something.

“Now, now, don’t be temperamental, Eric. I’m afraid it suits you.” She shot back, just to watch his upper lip begin to curl. 

Instead, he laughed. Damn him to every circle of hell. “You haven’t changed a bit, my dear. Still with as much…  _ fire  _ as ever.”

She fought back the urge to flinch and instead briefly dug her nails into her palm. His eyes tracked the movement. Fuck Eric Reyes and his entire fucking family. “Neither have you, I believe you used that line the last time we met. What? Can’t make up any new material?”

His grin was serpentine. “And why would I do that? I already have a way to get under your skin. I wonder,” he took a step closer and it took all of her strength to keep her gaze level. His cold, dead skin caressed her cheek. Her lips pulled back in a sneer, snarl, or grimace. “Do I live in your mind, Lady Blackwood? Have I taken up residence in the corner of your desires and fears? Do you dream of me?”

“As if you matter that much.” It was a struggle to keep her voice even. Sebastian, who’d been standing behind her, took a step closer as if to help. He hesitated before she cautioned him to wait, the moment hanging on some kind of precipice. Her heart raced, the fear left an acidic taste in her mouth. She refused to move.

Here was that side of him that, in its own way, belonged to her. Gone was the businessman, the cold detachment. Instead, she had to bear witness to his lust, the faint burn of green eyes, the briefest of touches. He was sure to blame her for drawing out some terrible piece of him. Eric brushed his thumb over her lips and she resisted the sudden temptation to bite him. “Oh, but I do.”

She exhaled and pressed the tip of a stake to his throat, eyes blazing and mouth a grim line. “Step back, Eric. Or I’ll kill you right here. Right now.”

He laughed quietly, the sound haunting against the dilapidated warehouse. Its stooping beams and dying wood amplified the noise better than the finest opera house. The echoes refracted and filled her mind, a phonograph’s needle trapped on a cylindrical tape. Eric took the step back, the pesky little smirk clinging to his lips, fully unaffected. “Lady Blackwood, let’s not begin this meeting with lies, shall we? You need me, darling.”

“You’re right, we have business to attend to.” She crossed her arms over her chest and met his gaze. The urge to gag clawed at her throat. Sebastian hovered behind her. Jezabel held steady.

“So we do. Terms?” The smirk faded and he clasped his hands behind his back. The spark was doused in his expression. She was met with a blank stare, something he was tending with care. The businessman had returned.

“You Turn Sebastian. No bindings, no carved words, nothing but the Turning. We take him a few blocks away and put him in a carriage, the driver takes him wherever he wants. A neutral carriage, not one of yours and not one of mine.” That was the easy part. “Two, you leave everyone in my life alone. All of them. They’re safe from you and any of your damn friends. Three, you don’t Turn me. No one does. I stay mortal.”

“One for one, then.” Eric replied and she took that as an agreement, of a sort.  _ A term for a term _ . “I alter his memory about this little meeting. He will know he’s been Turned and nothing else. Two, no contact with the outside world, save for any explicit exceptions. Three, you submit fully. No stakes under your pillow, no dinner knives stashed away. If you are intent on staying mortal, then I intend to cherish our every moment together.” There was no inflection, no anger, nothing. Empty. Eric was empty. He offered his hand.

“You don’t have to say yes,” Sebastian echoed the nagging thought in the back of her mind.

_ A term for a term _ .  _ A life for a life _ . Jezabel took his hand. “Deal.”

“My manservant will help you remove your weapons.” He released her hand and stepped away. Something unknown glinted in the hollow places of his expression.

“Don’t trust me?” She raised a brow.

“Oh, little wolf,” the nickname made her wince. “I know better than to trust you.” He glanced casually over his shoulder and smiled. “You can come out now.”

A figure stepped into a dim shaft of light. The rest of the world fell away. There was no warehouse, no Sebastian, no Eric. There were no years burying him and no grave. There was just a man and a woman on a bridge, in a bed. 

“You’re dead-” she gasped.  _ You didn’t check, you just believed what you saw, you stupid bitch, you didn’t check _ . The memories flashed and danced.

Ashes coating her fine boots, rubble beneath her feet.  _ Any bodies?  _ She’d asked the police.  _ Yes, several _ they’d said and she’d believed he was one of them. She had swallowed the smoke in the air, felt the acrid burn against her mouth, the fear beat in her throat and chest with equal weight and measure. She hadn’t liked the ashes like ruined snow and she’d left. The moment had sealed her fate, it seemed, more than the blood. More than the moment he’d said  _ Run, Red. It’s the only way. I’m already dead. I love you _ . More than the moment he’d vowed  _ You’ll always have a place in my arms _ . More than anything. The moment she carried was the one where she’d walked away.

Dustin ducked his head and didn’t meet her gaze. His skin was too pale, brown eyes bloodshot, his nose no longer looked permanently broken. He’d exchanged the beard for a light scruff and the scars for perfection. If she were to undress him, would she find the body she had known all too well? Did his neck still offer the silver scar of the vampire bite? Or his ribs the wound of the glass bottle? Was he still the man she remembered from all those years ago?

“Yes,” he whispered. She might have imagined it. Jezabel took an involuntary step forward, leaving Sebastian behind. Her heart ached with the pain of forgetting and being forced to remember. She burned with the knowledge that she had left him to suffer. Alone. Exactly how he’d promised never to leave her. Tears welled up and she fought them back and he still wasn’t meeting her gaze.  _ Forgive me _ , she wanted to cry,  _ please forgive me I didn’t know, I didn’t know- _

**I did know** . Some little scrap of her was clawing to the front, screaming that it had known the entire time. The bottle of his favorite brandy propped up against the crate as she walked down the alley. The single rose petal on her window sill one morning. The breath against the back of her neck as she clutched the rail of a bridge. Him. It had all been him. All along. He’d been there,  _ here _ , all along.

And she had done nothing. Hadn’t bothered to try, hadn’t bothered to look. Why? Because she was afraid? Afraid of the truth and the condemnation she’d thrust upon him? Afraid of Eric? Afraid of leaving him to the same fate she swore she’d kill herself before she returned to?

Eric perhaps sensed her turmoil and dragged her back into the moment. She didn’t have to glance at him to know he’d begun to smile. “I needed insurance, little wolf. Your word holds little weight. You promised my darling family to be our servant and then you tried to escape, so pardon me if I fail to believe that once I turn our dear friend here, you’ll be a docile sheep. The words little wolf are true for a reason.” He paused. His grin was surely venomous, a smile charming and white teeth, the edges crinkling into something else. Something dangerous. “You see, love, I’ve tied us together. Kill me and he dies too.”

“No.” The cloying scent of magnolia blossoms choked her, though he hadn’t gotten closer. That was his power. 

“Tell her,” Eric instructed and turned to Dustin whose gaze had never left hers.

“He’s telling the truth.” Dustin’s voice was heartbreakingly soft. Gentle. A lullaby, as though that too had been scrubbed clean like his scars. 

“Why?” She whirled on Eric now, all easy smiles and hands in his pockets. She wanted to snap his neck.

“Why did I Turn him or why didn’t I dangle him in front of you sooner?”

“Yes.”  
“I wanted you to come to me of your own free will, unaffected by desperate hope of rescue and freedom.” He paused, licked his lips. “See, I always knew, Lady Blackwood, that one day I would have something you need and you would submit to me for it. That is what I have spent these long years waiting for. Because I know what you are, little wolf: you’re a martyr. Poor girl, always willing to throw herself into the fire for someone else. Like Eve.” He didn’t have to touch her to summon a visceral reaction. Eve’s name was enough, wisps of blonde hair catching the light, the softness of her smile, the rot of her body in the cold dark cell. He had managed to violate her with nothing but words. Made worse because he was right. 

And he wasn’t finished either. “I know who you are, better than your friends, better than Dustin, better than your little  _ Leo _ . I knew that you might come to me someday over a choice, but you would not stay. And the circumstance, shall we say, fell into my lap.”

That night came back in dips and shallow dives of memory. Running. Fangs and claws close behind her. An escape route maybe? Something else? She couldn’t remember. The haze of snow and flakes on her bare skin. The memory rewound. Blood in the snow. Her wet dress.  _ Run, Red. It’s the only way. I’m already dead. I love you _ . The only time he’d said it. The one time she’d confessed it. Turning back and watching blood slide down his neck, watching his body go limp. Or was that a nightmare? Then the ashes. The burned down house. It had been on Christmas Eve. The coroner had said he’d been among the bodies. Her tears had frozen on her cheeks.

_ Tell me something _ , Dorian Gray had once said. They’d been at one of his infinite parties. It had been past midnight. She let him lead her in a dance. The house had burned down the year before, on Christmas Eve. She had gone to the party as an excuse not to visit the graveyard.  _ How can you suppress that which makes you human? _

_ What? _ She’d replied and he had dipped her low. There was a boyishness to the frame of his face and a mysteriousness latched on to his carefully arranged smile.

_ Your emotions, that which makes us human. You lock them away and for what? Because of what? It does not make you a mystery. It does not make you human _ . He had brought her up slowly. Their faces had been close.  _ I think it makes you that which you fear.  _ She’d left him standing there.

Standing here, Jezabel thought maybe Dorian had been right. “You waited all these years,” she said to one man or perhaps both.

“You would have come running.” Eric replied. “But you would have come with a plan, with some delusion that you would be able to change things. You might have brought hope with you.”

Dustin rolled up a sleeve and she saw the brand burned into his skin. Inked with blood. A magnolia blossom, a drop of blood sliding over the petals. The perfect insignia. It said everything Dustin couldn’t, all the ways he’d tried to tell her quietly and desperately. All the years he had waited. All the years he had followed her.

“You know about Leo.” Jezabel said.

“Thank your Mr. Smith for that. He was able to get closer to you than I even dreamed possible. I find I’m particularly fond of his descriptions as you step out of the tub and towel off…”

The world spun. He hadn’t drawn closer and still she could only smell those damned flowers, heavily perfumed, choking the life out of the room. Bile rose in her throat. All those years. All those times she’d been alone. Every moment thinking she was the hunter, never imagining her every move was being recorded and relayed. Could she still do this? Could she save Sebastian and let herself be drawn into this personal hell, stuck always between the tormentor and a man she used to love **_(_ ** still loved, in a way  **_)_ ** ?

“We should go.” Sebastian suggested quietly.

“We do have a deal,” Eric countered.

She met Dustin’s brown eyes, shot with red. Their self-hatred felt suspended in the air, a fragile thread they had to walk across to meet each other in the middle.  _ So full of regrets _ , she thought.  _ We are so full of regrets _ .

“We do,” Jezabel agreed.

“Remove her weapons,” Eric said, after a moment. “She can keep the guns and that is all.” Dustin’s brand churned black. She dug her nails deeper into her palms and took a steadying breath.

“Let’s get this over with.”

“Why, Lady Blackwood,” Eric answered. “We have all the time in the world.”

Dustin crossed to her side and for a moment, she was thrown back to the night before. Leo’s hands caressed the silk of her shirt. She smirked and thought about raking her hands through gold locks, about how his moan might taste against her lips. She blinked and the world righted itself. Dustin was in front of her. He had carefully taken hold of her wrist and was undoing the leather straps of her knives.

“Now, then,” Eric was saying in the background. “It’s a pleasure to meet you Mr...?”

“Mr. Highmore.” Sebastian replied.

“I’m sorry,” Dustin breathed and pulled her back into their own little world. It had been so long since they’d travelled it together. How could she be so relieved and yet so guilty? He trailed a dead finger along the inside of her wrist lightly. She couldn’t suppress the shiver that accompanied it.

“What do you have to be sorry for?”  _ I was the one who left you in the clutches of a monster _ .

His voice was back to a calming rumble. Perhaps there was still something of hers left. “So many things, Red.”

“I should have come back for you. I should have known that the fire was supposed to throw me off the scent. I should have-”

He squeezed her wrist where her pulse beat. How she missed the beat of his heart and her head pressed to his chest, as though the sound could drown out the messy thoughts in her head. Now, she supposed, he was the one who needed to hear her heart. “You thought I was dead.”

“You’re not, I didn’t even try to check I-”

“I am dead.” There was a ghost of his former grin, his fangs over too bright teeth and pale lips. He tucked the first of her daggers away and carefully patted down her arms. 

“You’re here. That’s enough.”

His eyes shone. Vampires could still cry. She hadn’t ever thought to ask. “If you fall, I will always be here to catch you.”

His thumb swiped at her cheek, though she wasn’t crying and for a split second, he had cupped her face. The memories of all the times they’d said those same words left her hollow and bleeding. “You remember.”

“How could I forget?” Little Eve in her arms, stumbling on a dress just a few inches too long. The expression had come naturally back then. In a way, Jezabel supposed this was how they kept her alive. It’d been so long.

“Five years is a lifetime.”

“Yes.” His hands slid slowly down her waist and he removed her weapons with care.

“I’m sorry.” Jezabel said. “Don’t tell me I don’t have to say it. I do. I should have come back for you. I shouldn’t have left.”

He shrugged. “He left me there for you to find. It was my choice.”

“Still. I didn’t try to find you.”

“You saw my body, in a sense.”

“You left me signs and I didn’t get it. All these years, Black. All these years, I had the chance and I didn’t take it.”

“It’s not your fault.” He crouched down and ran his hands along her trousers. She felt naked with only her guns still clinging to her hips.

“Don’t lie to me.”

Their eyes met and the force of his forgiveness was staggering. He carried his own set of guilt, she saw it in the deep circles beneath his eyes. Would his hands shake, she wondered, when Eric forced him to hurt her? Or would she see the pain only in his eyes, in the deepening bags, the furrowing lines? 

Leo was already half-forgotten, safe in the past and her bed. It was easier to pretend she didn’t love him that way. But Dustin saw it, as though the thief had left grooves in her skin or carved stars onto her brow. She balanced her love for them, one in the past, one in the future, and wasn’t sure if she wanted to kiss the one in front of her or if it would just hurt.

Eric made the decision for her, the sharp edge to his voice snapping them both to attention. “Care to watch, Lady Blackwood?”

She spun slowly. Dustin rose to his feet and took three steps away. “To make sure you don’t break your end of the bargain? Of course.”

“Oh, my little wolf.” He bared his teeth in her direction. They were crystalline against his pink lips. Perhaps he’d been a beautiful boy once, to another girl. Perhaps all beautiful boys grew up to be beautiful monsters.

“You’ll be alright, Sebastian.” Jezabel promised and finally settled her eyes on the victim she’d brought to Eric’s doorstep.  _ Please, don’t let this be a mistake _ . “I swear it.”

“I know, thank you for everything.” A tear slid down his cheek, one she couldn’t shed. Eric was right. She was meant to be a martyr.

Sebastian held his tie tight in his hand, his neck exposed. There was no smile on Eric’s mouth now, just a flat line as he maneuvered Sebastian onto a nearby crate. Sebastian sat and careful fingers ran along his neck until he found a vein. Green eyes, warm and cold flicked to her face, both searching for something. Eric’s fangs descended, a flash of white, then of red. She flinched and watched the vampire drink.

Jez ticked the seconds off in her head.  _ One, two, three _ . She itched for a stake or even a solid dagger in her grip.  _ Four, five, six _ . There was a lump in Sebastian’s jacket pocket, probably her note to Leo. It was noticeable as Sebastian sagged into Eric’s waiting arms.  _ Seven, eight, nine _ . Sebastian’s head was thrown back, his face pinched, Eric’s eyes closed.  _ Ten, eleven, twelve _ . He was so pale. They were both so pale. She was the only living thing here.  _ Thirteen, fourteen, fifteen _ . Eric pulled away.

Blood clotted at the corners of his mouth, but he didn’t stop to wipe it. Instead, he lifted his own wrist and cut it open with his fangs. Sebastian’s chest was barely rising. His eyes were half-lidded. Eric pressed his wrist to Sebastian’s lips. “Drink.” It came out a command. The blond obliged.

Slowly, his chest stopped its methodical rise and fall, yet he drank on. His mouth moved and there was a glint to green eyes. Blood slid down his neck and stained the collar of his shirt red. He drank deeper. Red was all she could see. Choking, bloody red.

“That’s enough.” Eric said and his voice sounded almost weak. It had lost its cold bite and razor edge. He dragged a finger along the welling blood against his wrist, then traced a pattern on Sebastian’s forehead. He didn’t look at her as he spoke, tone curt. “Before you protest, Lady Blackwood, this is part of our arrangement.”

Jezabel didn’t protest. The symbol felt carved into her eyelids, every moment unforgettable. There was something terrible in watching someone be condemned to the very fate you were trying to avoid. There was a glaze on Sebastian’s face now, a distance. The red of the blood stood out starkly against his skin that had once been simply pale and now verged almost on white. 

“Mr. Highmore,” Eric said calmly.

“Yes?” Sebastian’s voice was faint. Not weak. Just faint.

“Where do you think you are?”

“In a warehouse.”

“No, you’re on your way home to meet your wife, Mrs. Highmore. You went out for a walk this morning and took a wrong turn. Do you remember now?” He said it so smoothly, so easily, like he had stopped to oil each word as they passed his lips.

“Yes.”

“You’re alone. If they ask, you left with Lady Blackwood, but she left you in the warehouse district. You are no longer dying. Lady Blackwood fixed it for you. Isn’t that right?”  
“Yes, that’s right.”

“Now, you’re awfully tired, but you can’t sleep until you make it back home. Your wife will be home soon, you need to rest up to meet her.”

“I need to rest up to meet her.”

“That’s a good lad.” Eric yanked the other man to his feet. “Lady Blackwood, your coat, if you would be so kind?”

She shrugged it off and tossed it over. With care, Eric draped it over Sebastian’s head, then helped the other man slide his hands into his pockets. The gesture was almost kind, and if she didn’t know better, she might have confused it as such. 

“Shall we?” Eric inquired and gestured to the door. “Take Lady Blackwood’s arm, Mr. Smith. Tightly. We wouldn’t want her to run off, now, would we?”

“No, my Lord.” Dustin answered. His grip was vicelike and the apology flashed quickly over his features. The action was somehow familiar and yet a perverted version. Bastardized. She would have to get used to it.

They stepped into the sunshine, the force of it enough to dispel some of the worries of the darkness. Their pace down the street was brisk, woven through the London crowds in a tight pack as the first of the workers set themselves to their tasks. The muggy summer heat crawled against her skin and she couldn’t help but wonder if Sebastian was alright. 

After some time, they stopped and Eric hailed a cab. “Give the driver your home address,” Eric said. It was just loud enough for her to hear over the murmur of the crowd and the roll of wheels down the street. It was a kind of insurance, a demonstration.  _ See _ , he was saying,  _ I’ve kept up my end of the bargain _ . 

“Say goodbye to Lady Blackwood.” Eric instructed as Sebastian climbed into the carriage.

“Goodbye, Lady Blackwood.”

“Jez.”

“Goodbye, Jez.”

“Goodbye, Sebastian. When they find out, tell them I’ll be okay.” She waved farewell and he waved back. The driver flicked the reins and she watched it join the traffic until it was lost from her sight. Then the carriage was gone and with it, her only shred of hope. At least there was the goodbye note to Leo. At least there was that.  **_(_ ** And maybe, just maybe, her friends would find out where she’d gone and they’d come for her. Maybe forever would be only a few days.  **_)_ **

“Bring her here.” Eric said darkly and led them into an alleyway. It was empty, broken bottles and ramshackle buildings. Dustin’s grip on her arm was unforgiving. “Now, I would like to remind you, Lady Blackwood of our deal. And in case you feel like testing it, the harm you do to me will be inflicted on your dear Mr. Smith. Roll up your sleeve.”

Dustin obeyed. His wrist was cut, a thin line to match Eric’s. His cuff was stained. How had she failed to notice? A smaller voice cried out that there really was no hope. Would she truly be able to kill Dustin, after everything she’d let him suffer? After everything he’d been subjected to? Perhaps most of all, could she live in a world where Dustin died and left her alone with Eric fucking Reyes.

**_(_ ** Once, he had promised to kill her before Eric got to her. Once, she had vowed to put a bullet in his brain first. Once upon a time, things had been simple and such promises were easy and uncomplicated.  **_)_ **

“I own you, little wolf.” Eric stepped closer until they were sharing breaths. Dustin held her in place.

Jezabel spit in his face and he laughed low. “Oh, I knew you wouldn’t make this easy.” He didn’t even bother to wipe the spit off and instead grabbed her chin. The tips of his nails dug into her jaw. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of a wince. “If we weren’t in public, I would tell Mr. Smith to bite your neck to watch you squirm. How will you feel, I wonder, when your lover is the one to subject you to what I have planned? Will it hurt?” He kept his tone flat. Analytical even, as though she were some kind of experiment beneath a microscope. “Will that betrayal hurt you like you hurt me?”

“You’re a delusional fuck if you think I betrayed you,” she hissed in reply and threw her head forward. There was the resounding crack and Eric’s neck flung his head back. The pounding in her skull was worth it. 

He shook it off and took a step away. It felt like a momentary win. “I’ve missed you, Lady Blackwood.” He withdrew a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his face. “And I must say, I’m so very glad you’ve decided not to make this easy.”

“I live to exceed your expectations.” 

“Such fire and brimstone.” Eric tutted and tucked his handkerchief back into his pocket. “Choke her out. Be careful not to kill her, Mr. Smith. After all, we’ve only just begun.”

His forearm was against her throat immediately. The black of his brand hurt, the force of his grip hurt, the fact that it was him, it was her Dustin, her Black card hurt. She struggled without reason, lunging forward to claw at Eric and when that failed, raking her nails against Dustin’s skin. He didn’t try to stop her. Not even when she flailed for her guns, though they wouldn’t make a difference. “I’m sorry, Red,” he whispered into the shell of her ear. “I’ve only ever wanted to make you happy.”

As the darkness closed in, the last thing she saw was a pair of cold green eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who read this! I was honestly shocked it got more then like 10 hits and a huge thank you to anyone that made it to the end! This has been a wip of mine for over a year now and god, I'm SO HAPPY it's done! Finally! I did it! This piece has been a long journey, but I think I'm finally happy with it and really happy to share it. 
> 
> Anyway, thank you again for anyone who read this! I'm not sure what my next project will be ( I have an old smut fic I can finish and that might be it... ), but I have a few things in the works. Thanks y'all and have a great week!


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